An Evening of Francis Rossi’s Songs from the Status Quo Songbook and more – Queens Hall – Edinburgh 17th May 2025

I dragged my poor, aching bones up to Queen’s Hall last night. Legs like rusted hinges, lungs not much better. I hadn’t planned on going, but my grandson wouldn’t shut up about it. “You’ve been banging on about Status Quo since before CDs,” he says. “You’re bloody well going.” So I did.

The seats were murder. Might as well have perched on a sack of bricks. Lucky I brought the cushion Mabel made back when her fingers still worked. She’s been gone twelve years now. I still catch myself reaching for her hand in the dark.

Rossi came out, silver hair slicked back like it was still 1982. A bit like me—outdated, yes, but still ticking. Stubborn to the bone. He opened with a couple of self-deprecating stories before taking a seat next to his counterpart for the evening, Mr. Andy Brook.

Then came the music. The first chord hit like a nerve waking up. The room shifted. Backs straightened. Feet started twitching like they remembered how. My hearing aid was behaving for once, and I caught every syllable.

No noise, no distortion—just the meat of the songs. Honest. Stripped down. Like how we used to gather round the old wireless, back when everything wasn’t trying to shout you into feeling something. This didn’t shout. It just was.

The bloke beside me got glassy-eyed halfway through “20 Wild Horses,” I think it was. Didn’t ask. Didn’t need to. Just handed him my handkerchief—the proper kind, cloth, not the papery nonsense they sell now. He nodded. That was enough.

After the interval, Rossi came back looser. But the songs came thick and fast—he was running overtime.

By the time he hit “Rockin’ All Over the World,” the place wasn’t sitting still anymore. Even I got the boots moving, and that’s saying something. And when it came time for “Caroline” at the end, everyone stood. I didn’t want to—I’d been up and down enough for one night (she cried!)—but there’s a point where the music pulls you, not asks you. So I stood.

On the way out, the grandson looked at me sideways and said, “Well?” I just nodded. “That’s the real thing,” I told him. “When I’m gone and you’re sorting through my records, keep the Quo. They’re built to last. Same as me.”

This morning, everything aches. Feet. Knees. Neck. But it was worth it. Worth every goddamn step.